


Artuate

by Lemon (theclumsytool)



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Blood As Lube, Character Death, Knifeplay, M/M, Oral Fixation, Sexual Content, oral injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21598807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclumsytool/pseuds/Lemon
Summary: So maybe Leon Grayson is a bit of a thrill seeker, so maybe he gets high off of adrenaline. It could be worse, right ?
Relationships: F.J.S.J. | The Legion/Original Male Character(s), Frank Morrison/Original Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	Artuate

Artuate. _v_ , to tear limb from limb.

* * *

Leon thrives off the adrenaline, the energy that floods his veins as he's backed into a corner or struck down with blades and hatches and claws. It carries him over pallets and windows in a rushed sprint and speaks of his history. But it also reminds him of his failures. His legs ache, his knee screams every time he slows down or the heartbeat of a looming killer fades. But he bares it, the pain, when it counts, it something more intimate compared to being maimed and stabbed over and over during a trial.

He loves it, realizes it after every time he just barely escapes by the skin of his teeth, limping through an exit or dragging his broken body through the hatch. It's sort of a guilty pleasure, the fear. More often than not he finds himself impaled on a hook anyway, but the victories are always the sweetest. Though sometimes he does find himself falling into odd habits, his depression that he sunk into after his knee injury rising up to remind him that he doesn't have a future doing the thing he loves. He drinks himself into a stupor, till he doesn't remember anything, doesn't _feel_ anything. It's nice sometimes.

Then a blaring horn is dragging him out of his thoughts, loud and intruding. Leon's chest heaves audibly as he slides himself unceremoniously around a rock for cover. His legs immediately collapse under him as he tries to crouch. Everything catches up to him at once. He'd abandoned his sweater when the back had been cut clean through, shredding his undershirt as well. The cut was deep, piercing enough to slide through his dark flesh too. He blamed himself for being cocky, so determined to finish the generator he knew was close. Frank punished him for it, but he'd gotten the last laugh when it flared to life.

Still, Leon wished he had brought a bandage with him, always so finicky about supplies. He worried about wasting them, but in his moment of repose, he was aggravated with his hoarder like nature. But the ring in the distance was a consideration for him as well, the doors being open soon would give him an escape, an exit without needing to mend himself. He found himself exhaling and slumping against the makeshift cover, eyes drifting closed as he feels his chest rise and fall slowly. Spending most of the trail in a broken sprint had him in a rough state, exhaustion making all his limbs feel heavy, uncooperative.

When he finally stands on shaky legs, he uses the rock as a clutch. His fingers automatically curl around his side, against the cramp that had been steadily building there for the better half of the trial. He steels himself with a breath, regarding the crows that had taken perch nearby with lazy interest. They'd start yelling at him if he didn't move soon, an obnoxious tick that existed only in the realm of the entity. He'd let the looming idea of freedom carry him straight to the exit, and then he'd get his rest. 

He opens his eyes, ready to take off of the imaginary blocks like he had during track meets and practices, but instead of a clear path, he's met with a crooked smile drawn crudely on stained white wood. Panic flares in his chest, his feet catching on themselves as he stumbles backwards, free hand fumbling for the rock again. His response is too slow, lethargy dragging him down as the killer round the rock. Fear spikes in his heart as Frank brings the blade down and— Leon trips over himself and hits the ground haphazardly. The blade slides through empty air, too close.

The man behind the mask whistles and laughs. "Ooh, lucky," he coos. He's teasing him, he determines as he steps up between his legs, kneeling down in front of Leon. The blade is brandished close to his throat, and he can feel the whisper of it against his skin. "If I'd known it was so easy to sweep you off your feet, woulda done it sooner."

His green eyes dart to the distance, open desperate in seeking out the light of a nearby exit. There's none in sight. Leon grimaces and grits his teeth stubbornly in his mouth. "Don't get so full of yourself," he grinds out, painfully aware of the blade pressing down on him. His rude demeanor never got him anything good except for a tunneling and a quick death, but that was easy. At least with no one to save him, there was no reason for it to be dragged out.

Frank tuts at him as though he knows something he doesn't, as if he knows every thought that just passed through his mind. Leon's breath catches like the knife against his throat is a hand starving him of oxygen instead. "I just hate how you've been parading me around the entire map," he starts, bearing down on him and forcing him in the dirt to avoid being cut open. His other hand is braced against his head forcefully, making him flinch. "That really pisses me off you know. And now you're the only one left, your teammates all gone. Karma's kinda a bitch, huh." The blade digs a little deep, blood welling up and sliding horizontally over the sides of his neck. Not enough to kill.

Leon bares his teeth in a smug tilt of his lips in a grin. "Maybe, but I'm not the loser here. **Frank**." There's a weight to his name on the brunette's tongue, he knows the killer hates it, hates being isolated from the group he takes so much pride in. _The Legion_. It's so tacky Leon wants to laugh, knowns it would get under the male's skin, It'd be so easy to rile him up, get him angrier, get him to handle him so roughly, shove his face into the dirt— He mentally cuts himself off before he gets too deep into the fantasy. 

It works though, he sees bandaged hands curl into the cold earth just out of his peripheral. He doesn't dare to turn his head to look, keeps his eyes fixed on the little sliver of holes in the mask where Frank peers down at him. There's a murderous air about him and suddenly Leon feels entirely too warm. He's glad he's mastered the poker face, wouldn't trust himself not to blush and turn red otherwise. "You're so _smart_ ," he hisses, and he knows it's supposed to be an insult, "You just love using that fucking mouth, like you have nothin' better to do." He's breathing hard behind the mask.

That's all that passes between them for a moment, air and silence. It's dangerous, Leon can almost sense him considering, mulling over something in his mind. "Don't think so hard," he says before he can stop himself, "you might hurt yourself."

The knife is gone from his throat before he can blink, dangerously pressing under the jut of his bottom lip. He can only repel so much, pressed between the weapon and the hard, unforgiving earth. "Maybe I should cut it out for you." He sits back a little to support himself on his knees, beginning to straddle him instead of kneeling between his legs. With new use of his other hand, he forces his fingers into Leon's mouth. He tastes like blood and dirt and sweat. The bandages around his knuckles are rough against his lips as he pries his teeth open. The knife invades his mouth, pressing on his tongue with the flat edge and clinking against his teeth, daring him to try and close his mouth. "I think it'd save me a lot of trouble. Not to mention I'd like you a whole lot more if you couldn't backtalk."

Frank chuckles, the sound deep and low. Drool pools under his tongue as he's unable to swallow, and Leon thinks for a second that he might make good on his threat. He twists it over, the sharp tip pressing down. He feels the pressure first and them liquid cooper floods his mouth. A whimper escapes him on principle, and just a quickly the blade is gone, no longer invading his mouth. Blood drips from his mouth as he lifts his head, staining his shirt. It's an effort with the weight on his chest, but he doesn't want to choke on his own blood. Leon wonders what sort of face the killer is making behind his mask, wordlessly watching him stick out his tongue and flinch. It's not deep, but it certainly is generous in bleeding. 

"Maybe now you'll learn to shut your trap."

And then, just to prove a point, Leon says, "Fuck you, Frank, you're an asshole." and hopes it still comes across with his temporary lisp, trying not to further irritate his tongue.

It's not difficult to miss the noise of displeasure from the killer, one Leon had anticipated. And then Frank is trying to pry his mouth open again, maybe for a deeper cut, maybe to take his tongue clean out of his mouth this time and not just make empty threats. But he's not having either, would deeply prefer the inside of his mouth wasn't mutilated. He bites into the invading fingers, grinds his teeth down until he breaks skin and blood that's not his own pools on his tongue. And Frank yanks his hand away, tears skin on canines with an audible hiss of pain.

"Fucker!" He can feel the glare behind the smiling mask but still glowers triumphantly up at him, expression one of obvious self-satisfaction. He hears the growl first, followed by "You won't look so smug after this!" And Frank is bringing the knife down on him and the same panic from earlier flares to life. Leon wants out of this trial, he wants to die, but the blow won't be fatal, isn't aiming for vital and— He catches Frank's wrist, arm shaking with effort as he tries to fight against him. He knows he won't hold out, not with his entity enhanced strength, so he shoves at the killer's face and chest with his free hand, trying to make him lose his balance and miss.

Leon's face is turned against the dirt in a cringe, the killer's left hand having come to coil around his throat at some point during their struggle. He's trying to starve him of air, weaken him as he gasps on nothing in desperation. His legs kick, the heels of his scrappy boots digging into the soil. His fingers scramble over wood, clipped nails scratching weakly. He finds the hard edge of the mask and yanks, doesn't stop pulling until it's free. His hand slips and the knife comes down, misses and clips the top of his shoulder instead of embedding itself in his flesh. He doesn't have time to sigh in relief.

The hold on his neck loosens as Frank realizes the theft of his mask. He grabs for it; Leon's mind is race and racing and— He throws the mask, tosses it as far out of reach as he possibly can. It's a helpless attempt to get the male off his chest. He hopes he'll go after it, He doesn't. Leon feels his heart spike under his ribcage.

"What the fuck," he curses, the words coming out impulsively and unprompted. Leon stares up at the revealed face of the killer. He'd expected disfigured, inhuman, scared or even ugly. He'd imagined a thousand things and somehow the face looking down at him is one of those things. It's gold eyes, not dark like he'd originally thought. Long eyelashes, almost catlike, and thick browns. It's a slightly crooked but not unsightly nose. "What the fuck."

"That all you have to say? Gonna make a guy insecure." There's a teasing note to his voice, one that's not helping his current predicament at all. Leon can feel his face burning, knows it must be lighting up even under the bags that are so prominent under his eyes.

The fight or flight instinct rises up in him. He decides that now he wants to fight, now he wants to yank Frank's knife from the earth and off himself by his own hand. He wants to go back to the campfire and stare into the endless woods until his heart stops trying to jump out of his chest. Leon doesn't say any of this and instead shoves helplessly at the killer's shoulders again. He doesn't budge. "Dammit, Frank, get the hell off me! I mean it, I swear to god—!" He's shouting and thrashing, all but throwing a goddamn tantrum.

And then that devilishly attractive face is uncomfortably close, and Leon can see the slight chap of his lips and the turned over droop of his lids and the subtle sheen of sweat cooling on his skin and he wants to kiss him, wants Frank to force his tongue into his mouth, his cock—

He squirms more violently, a sick feeling flaring in his stomach. His legs press together and he realizes he's hard, suddenly and impossibly turned on. It's terrible and wrong and all sorts of filthy, and Leon wants it so bad. 

"What's the matter?" Frank laughs, "Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?" He knows, he has to know. The pet name has his cock responding immediately and if the male moves down just a bit he'll be right on top of him, and Leon whines, the sound outright pitiful. The killer latches onto that immediately, a grin spreading across his features. It's sly with a hint of wicked, and if he didn't know before, he certainly knows now.

He sits back, still straddling him but now posed horribly, perfectly, right on top of his erection which strains against his shorts. Leon makes a choked noise, head dropping back as his hands which had been trying to force Frank off, falter and weaken in their struggle. The male takes the opportunity to gather them in his own fists, one still stained with his own blood, and pins his arms above his head. His back arches uncomfortably from the position, shoulders turning inward almost painfully. He hates that he takes pleasure in it. 

"I gotta say, this is a good look for you. Redfaced and pinned down. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to seduce me." He corrals both wrists into one hand, the other coming to press down on Leon's arched chest. He slides his palm down, the friction against his clothes nipples sparking temporary pleasure. He automatically worries a lip between his teeth, biting back a sound. But the killer doesn't acknowledge it, keeps sliding his hand down until it's pressed atop his novel. "And I doubt I need to mention the response below the belt." 

Leon's chest heaves, he's embarrassed by his own body, his own arousal prominent and undeniable. He screws his eyes shut, can't bear to meet those golden eyes head-on or else he may begin asking for something he could never recover from. "Just kill me," he pleads instead, painfully aware of how weak his voice sounds, low with a need he's trying terribly not to recognize. "Save me the humiliation and— ah!" A startled moan escapes him as Frank rolls his hips down, his eyes snap open and he sees the male staring down at him with a look he can't quite pinpoint.

"You expect me to just give up my special treat, hot and bothered and just begging to be fucked right underneath me. You should see your face right now." His hand moves back up, pinches his chin between his fingers and turns his face over as if to inspect it. He pauses, thumbs at his lips. Instinct tells him to bite it off, but he doesn't; instead, opening his mouth and lolling out his still injured tongue, lapping at the digit. Frank presses it past his teeth, smirks when he sucks it in and moans, lashes fluttering against his warm cheeks as he closes his eyes. " _Good boy._ " 

They stay like that for a long time, the killer just watching him suck and use his tongue willingly. Leon relishes in it, doesn't dare open his eyes knows because he'll come undone in a heartbeat, beg for unspeakable things, things he's been starving for without ever voicing his hunger. It's impossible to deny though, especially when Frank pulls his hand away, and he _whines_ , the sound so regretfully needy. And when he finally, finally opens his eyes, he sees the killer, sees the dilation of his eyes, the soft flush of his skin. His eyes flick down for only a second, his cock pulses. 

"What? You get hard just watching something like this, Frank? How very PG thirteen of you." He tries to joke despite how painfully hard he is under the male's thighs. He wants to be fucked open so bad his chest hurts. 

Frank laughs, the sound no longer cocky and seems almost forced. And then he's shifting down, moving Leon's legs over his hips so that their crotches are now pressed together and he can feel the outline of his dick through his jeans. He can't help but moan, honesty seeping into his voice. "You talk like you didn't just get hard from being pinned down, sucking on my finger like it was a cock. Pretty good show though, super hot."

"Well, I can certainly lay here and suck on your fingers, but I'd much rather make better use of the time and this position if you don't mind. Don't know how much longer the entity is going to stand your shitty excuse of foreplay." Leon grinned, flashing teeth. He was horny and he was impatient and there was still that hit of exhaustion leftover from the trial before. "Because," he murmured, lowering his lashes and arching his chest in the killer's hold as he rolled his hips down, "I, for one, would much rather you get on with it and fuck me already before I decide the wait isn't worth it."

When he meets Frank's eyes, the first thing he sees is arousal, obvious and boiling at the surface. It breaks with a smirk, and he's reaching for the knife still embedded in the earth, yanking it out with ease with his free hand. Leon doesn't want to show that it makes him nervous in his extremely compromised position, but it does. Too close to his throat as the male moves it down. It dances over his collarbone, catches the edge of his grey shirt. And then he's yanking it down in one swift motion, slicing through the fabric like its butter, cutting his flesh where it gets too close. Somehow the pain adds to the heat in his core, though he never really thought himself a masochist.

And then he's releasing his arms finally, finally to begin undoing his pants. Leon takes the cue to do the same, shoulders pleasantly burning from holding the uncomfortable position for so long. His fingers shake a little, especially when he notices Frank watching him. There's a darkness to his gaze, something predatory. He wonders if that's what expression he makes when he chases down Leon's fellow survivors, cutting them up and forcing them onto hooks. The thought makes a shiver ripple over his skin, and it's difficult to blame it on the chill in the air when his body is so warm.

He doesn't feel the blade again until it's cutting through the legs of his shorts and briefs, crudely and sloppily discarding him of them. A noise of protest rises in his throat, but Frank just chuckles at him, bares sharp canines, almost like fangs. "My dick is so hard right now, I don't feel like fucking around with your clothes." Leon understands where he's coming from a little too well and huffs his acceptance, just a tad bitter. The clothes will come back when he finally leaves the trial anyway.

"Now about loosening you up," he trails off, fingertips idly sliding through the blood seeping through the shallow cut on his chest.

"I'm not a virgin if that's what you're wondering, just a couple of digits and I should be fine."  Frank huffs at him, makes a sorta dumb expression, and Leon can tell he's about to say something in stupid in response, so he immediately cuts him off. "Next time I'll let you watch me do it myself." The killer falls silent with the implication that there will be another expedition between the two of them. 

"Next time," he says, rubbing the crimson liquid between his fingers and lowering it between Leon's thighs, "I'll have you suck my cock." Then he's pushing the digits in, and he can't help but grimace slightly. It's a bad substitute for lube. But he's moving them and pinching turns to uncomfortable turns to pleasure once again building up in his core. His head falls back against the earth as he moans softly, sweat once again beginning to slick his chest. It feels good; Frank's eyes on him only add to the heat, his gaze almost burning. His free hand danced along the jut of his hip, almost admiring in his touch. The urge to kiss him rises up again, he shoves it down by closing his eyes. 

"Babe—" Frank's voice is suddenly so loud in his ears, so near, "You look so good like this." The compliment makes his skin burn as though he's embarrassed. After all this and he's blushing like a Christian girl. It's all very high school.

He shoves him away blindly, trying not to smile. "Shut up, that's enough." He knows it'll hurt a little anyways without proper stretching, but they don't have the time or the materials for that so Leon will deal. Frank looks pleased with himself as he pulls his fingers free, pulls them to his mouth and licks over them. "That's disgusting."

He looks unbothered, gives him that dangerous smile as he pulls his cock free. "It's your blood, sweetheart."

Leon rolls his eyes. "Just hurry up and fuck me, asshole." 

"Whatever." Frank huffs at him, lining up casually. The first press stings, just like Leon knew it would and the rest of the way isn't much better, but the killer doesn't force it too much. Not more than he has to anyway. It's appreciated, especially with him being bigger than he'd expected. He feels full, stuffed even, but Frank waits, with more patience than he gave him credit for. His thumb is rubbing circles into his hip. When did he start doing that? It's nice. 

He sighs softly, pats the male's bicep. Suddenly he wishes Frank wasn't wearing that stupid leather jacket and hoodie combination, wants to feel his bare skin more intimately. He doesn't say that, says, "Move," instead. And he does. It's doesn't feel great obviously, even fully lubed up, it doesn't. But it doesn't hurt, it isn't unbearable. He pulls Frank in by the shoulders. Leon isn't clingy, the killer kisses his neck. He moans, and it starts to feel good, really good.

There's a pinch of teeth, a hickie against his throat, two, three. The mark will be gone afterward, the entity wiping everything clean, making everything new. Leon wants them to last. Frank is saying something into his ear between groans. He kisses the spot behind his ear, he melts. "So tight, feel so good." It's basic stuff, it's the cliche shit people say during sex. He thinks he hears his name, likes the way it sounds on the killer's tongue.

"Hey, Frank." The urge bubbles up again. His mind is dizzy with pleasure and arousal, and he's stupid with it. "Kiss me?" The question comes out as a breath. Leon doesn't really do intimacy, but he rolls his hips into him and Leon wants to cry and if Frank doesn't kiss him soon he just might. But then his lips are on him and they're just as chapped as he thought they'd be. The texture is nice. Frank has a tongue piercing. Everything about the situation is wrong. Leon doesn't care. 

The killer fucks into him softer than he'd expected. He doesn't know if he'd wanted it rough, but it's good like this. He buries his face against Frank's shoulder, inhales his musk and sighs out, "I'm close." He wishes he could dig his fingers into the male's skin, pull his hair. His hood is still up. Leon is frustrated, turned on, a cocktail of emotions. Bandaged hands wander his skin, touching, leaving fire in their wake. 

"Me too."

He gasps out as thrust has him hitting his prostate just right. The words jumble coming out of his lips. "Inside— I want you to come inside." Frank moans, he wants to almost as badly as Leon wants him to. His hips jump, becoming sloppy. He's murmuring praises, so close to his ear that his mind is spinning trying to process everything. And the coil is winding, winding until— He comes over his own chest, between their bodies. Leon's lips part, falling into a soundless _oh._

Frank isn't far behind him, spills into him just like he wanted him to. Their lips meet at some point, Leon isn't sure when. But they're kissing as the killer fucks him through his orgasm, golden eyes never leaving him, almost admiring. When things slow down enough that he can catch his breath, he feels relieved in ways he can't describe. Somehow Frank's presence is more suffocating now that there's not that unbearable sexual tension between them. Leon doesn't know what to do now, knows his death is getting closer the longer they pant together. Nothing lasts forever. 

"Okay, baby." Frank pushes Leon's bangs back with his palm, hand just resting on his forehead now. He knows what's coming, feels the ghost of the knife over his chest. "We'll have to do this again, but you know what has to happen now, right?"

"Let me go?" Leon tries, his face is warm with a blush. His eyes are heavy, and he's ready for sleep. He's okay with either answer really, eyes slipping closes when the blade becomes more than a whisper. 

"No dice." It sinks into his skin, piercing his heart. It's not bad. It never really is. 

Leon wakes up at the campfire with a gasp, still feeling satisfied, still feeling good. Quentin gives him a look like he knows. A smile graces his features. "Sweet dreams?"

**Author's Note:**

> this was 200% self-indulgent and turned out being ?? softer than i wanted somehow ? thanks for reading anyways nfndnsn 


End file.
